


but all the possibilities

by defcontwo



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel 616
Genre: F/F, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 18:23:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 2,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1993107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/defcontwo/pseuds/defcontwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a collection of marvel drabbles and requests.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. staying in

They do this a lot. Hell, maybe more than they should. Make plans. Get out Stella’s list, talk about checking a few more things off it. Get distracted and wind up not even making it out of the bedroom, let alone the house, and calling in for delivery several hours later. 

Sam’s learned not to make reservations, anymore. If they get out to the Thai place, they’ll get out to the Thai place. 

And with Stella walking in, looking more pin-up girl than soldier, in a sharp red dress with structured pockets and even redder lips - well. Part of Sam thinks it's a shame to waste it, the two of them dressed to the nines, Stella in a dress and Sam sporting suspenders that she'd only bought partly as a joke and partly because of the low-lidded, all too tempting look that Stella gave her when she eyed them. 

But there's always another night. Another time. 

Sam uncrosses her arms, lets her gaze drag from head to toe and linger. “Hey there, soldier, going my way?” 

Stella raises an eyebrow, incredulous and only a little bit mocking. Nobody ever tells ya how much of jackass Captain America can be going in. It's what makes this better, makes it real. "Smooth, Wilson, very smooth. That ever work for you?" 

Sam snorts, pushing off from the wall, reaching out a hand to tug at one of the pockets in Stella’s dress. “Works on you, doesn’t it, Rogers?” 

"Yeah," Stella says, all put upon ruefulness, even as she’s hooking a finger into Sam’s belt loop and pulling them flush together. "But I guess there’s no accounting for taste." 

(They don’t make it to the Thai place).


	2. hang the rules

Jess has rules about these kinds of things. 

Or — at least. She thinks she should have rules about these kinds of things. Don’t fall for your ex-boyfriend’s partner. Don’t fall for someone young enough that they used to own a tamagotchi, that’s another. 

Not that she exactly knows what a tamagotchi is, Jan was a little vague on the details but the point is — the point is, there’s no fucking point, Kate Bishop is a goddamn knockout with a smart mouth and Jess is weak at the sight of that tiny, purple-clad right hook. 

"Hey, Spidey, you gonna jump in with those fancy powers of yours or do I have to do this all by myself?" Kate calls out, darting a quick look over her shoulder at Jess before facing forward, eyes on the target and fingers quick at the bow and isn’t it right, for that to be as impressive as it is — as much of a turn on as it is. 

"Fucking fuck rules," Jess grumbles before tearing after Kate, hot on the heels of a group of Skrulls. 

She’ll figure it out later.


	3. coping methods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam likes to think that she gets people.

Sam likes to think that she gets people. You kinda have to, in her line of work. Sure, everyone’s different but after a couple of years at this, you start to see the familiar patterns — the zig and zag of coping methods, all the different walls that people can build. 

Natasha isn’t that different from the rest, not really, except for all the ways that she is. Child espionage isn’t exactly in Sam Wilson’s VA purview. 

And this, beating the crap out of each other across the mat, this is not a therapy session, not in the slightest, but it’s maybe the closest Sam gets to really understanding who Natasha is. 

A foot hooks beneath Sam’s ankle, flipping her over, Natasha straddling Sam as she settles on top of her, pinning Sam’s hands to the mat, pale skin flushed and a triumphant gleam in her eyes.

Natasha crows to the sky, laughing bright and loud, barely thought-through taunts spilling from her lips because she and Rogers are both cut from the same cloth of competitive little shit, and Sam likes her so much in this moment that it takes her breath away.


	4. collateral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the part Kate’s not used to, yet.

This is the part Kate’s not used to, yet. 

This is the part she doesn’t ever want to get used to, not for a single second. 

Kate sits, slumped on the curb, blood-stained hands twisted in her lap as she watches. There’s a pain in her chest and she likes to imagine that there’s a scream, there, lodged in deep and fighting to make its way out. The ambulances are arriving, parking in the near-distance to collect the bodies of the fallen. 

The bodies of the people she couldn’t save. 

There’s a thump and then a warm weight next to her side. Laura Kinney, right. She was in this fight too. The other girl carefully takes one of Kate’s bloodstained hands in hers, threading their fingers together, not saying a word. They don’t even know each other, not really, but — well, Kate thinks she gets what Laura’s trying to say, here, for all that Laura doesn’t seem to be one for words.

Kate lets her head fall to Laura’s shoulder, lets the other girl wrap her up in a half hug and finally, exhales.


	5. roommates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The worst/best idea in Steve Rogers’s long and storied history of bad ideas.

Steve’s pretty sure that this, right here, is the worst fucking idea he’s ever had in his entire life and he’s, well, he’s had some bad fucking ideas.

Picking a fight with Mikey Pallone behind the school in tenth grade, that was one of his biggest. 

This might be worse, though. 

"Hey, Steve, which room did you say was mine again?" 

Steve shoves his hands hastily inside his pockets and wonders if it’s even possible, for him to shrink any further inside himself, to make himself even smaller than his already slight 5’5” frame, to keep himself from really facing what he’s done, here. 

"Yours is the one to the right of Steve’s, Barnes," Peggy says. She’s got both feet up on the coffee table, a book perched in her lap. There’s something effortlessly impressive about Peggy, how she always looks like she could go from classroom to boardroom to gala and dare anyone to tell her otherwise. 

Bucky’s got a look on his face, wide-eyed and well on his way to being charmed, like he’s struck a little dumb at the sight of her. Steve heaves a sigh and thinks, _Yeah, I can relate_. 

Moving in with your high school sweetheart that you haven’t seen since he went away to join the army but you’re still a little bit gone on? Check. 

Moving in with the sharpest, most impressively beautiful woman you’ve ever met? Check. 

But he needed the money and he needed the roommates and well, Peggy and Buck, they both needed a place to live. 

So here they are. 

Witnesses to the worst idea in Steve Rogers’s long and storied history of bad ideas. 

(It’s not a bad idea, in the end, though. Not at all).


	6. basorexia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> steve/bucky/peggy | basorexia | an overwhelming desire to kiss.

Dimly, Steve wonders if there’s a word for this — for the spark that runs up and down his spine at the sight of them, at Peggy and Bucky in their element, back to back and guns out. 

They are both perfectly still, living statues if not for the fire in their eyes, fingers steady on the trigger and gazes fixed right on their targets. 

"Shall we go on your mark, then, Agent Carter?" Bucky asks, all put upon plummy vowels and smart mouth and Steve can tell from the way Peggy’s eyebrow quirks that she’s as pleased as she’s also kind of wanting to punch him. 

"As usual, Sergeant Barnes," Peggy says. 

"What do you suppose is goin’ through Steve’s pretty little head over there, huh?" Bucky asks, curling a finger around the trigger. 

"I imagine you can guess, Sergeant," Peggy says, having the gall to turn her head just so that Steve can see her conspiratorial wink before returning to position. 

"I really don’t like either of you," Steve calls out. 

They hit their targets, dead on. 

Steve’s never wanted to kiss them more.


	7. brontide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jessica/natasha | brontide | the low rumbling of distant thunder.

Jess still isn’t sure what she’s doing here, not really. She’s still reeling from the tossed out invitation, blank face and carefully casual tone, “hey Drew, want to crash at my place after,” and until then, it hadn’t actually occurred to Jess that Natasha _had_ a place. 

But they were too tired, too wrung out from the mission to fuck, so they stripped, leaving their uniforms scattered like the pieces of a crime scene all over Natasha’s apartment before collapsing into bed. Jess’s pretty sure that she stepped over a cat at some point, which is just a whole other pandora’s box of questions. 

The room is dark, the moon casting a slim shadow across them both. Natasha is quiet, breathing the deep, rhythmic breathing of the fast asleep which could mean fuck all because with her, you never know. The air is charged, anyways, filled with words that Jess isn’t sure she’s supposed to say. In the distance, there’s a deep, low rumble of thunder and it’s about time because this city could use a good storm, has been aching for it lately. 

Jess shifts her hand across the space between them, fingers reaching out to circle Natasha’s wrist, a barely there reassurance, before leaning back, closing her eyes and falling asleep.


	8. duende

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rule 63 steve/sam | duende | unusual power to attract or charm.

She doesn’t know how she got so lucky. 

It sounds strange when she thinks about it because lucky, is that what this is? Nurse turned Captain America turned lost soldier who lost everything. Some days, Stella wakes up and feels like the unluckiest person in the world, like she can barely breathe for the weight of all she’s lost. 

But Sam — Sam burns bright in Stella’s eyes, bright and solid and warm, like a lighthouse in a storm. Sam, who stands at the front of the room in all her VA sessions and draws people to her, weaving a world of possibilities, where healing is an option and vulnerability is not a sin, not a flaw to apologize for.

Sam gets people in a way that Stella’s always wanted to and never could and when Sam smiles at her, that smile that says I know you, that says you’re a way bigger pain in the ass than the history books ever warned me but I love you anyways, Stella finds that she can’t look away, couldn’t even if she wanted to.


	9. quidnunc

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sharon carter | quidnunc | one who always has to know what is going on.

She has a reputation, now, a new one. 

Before, she was Agent 13. The Carter Legacy who never leaned on the legacy, who fought tooth and nail and always showed up hours earlier than everyone else and ten times as prepared. Before, she went to work every day and she worked her ass off but she also poured her heart into it. SHIELD was her home. Her calling. The love of her goddamn life.

Now, she is Agent Carter. The new recruit who is like a dog with a bone, who tracks down every lead, every source and triple checks every op before okaying. She works hard and she makes everyone around her work harder and they hate her for it. 

She lets it all roll off her like so much rain off her roughened brown leather jacket. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, well. 

There’s not gonna be a twice.


	10. ayurnamat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sam/steve | ayurnamat | the philosophy that there is no point in worrying about events that cannot be changed.

Part of Sam thinks that he should give this more thought, that it’s a big decision to make, this falling in love with Steve thing. It comes with baggage; not Steve’s baggage because that’s just normal, every relationship has baggage, even if it doesn’t include two war veterans, one of which is a super soldier from World War II. 

Captain America’s baggage, though — well, that’s a doozy. 

But. There’s no point. It’s already done. There is no going back from this; not when he knows how Steve gets first thing in the morning, bleary eyed and grumpy and way funnier than he has any right to be. Not when he knows what Steve looks like during sex, not when he knows that Steve likes to laugh, during, likes to joke and push and talk and talk and talk because the mouth on that boy, Captain America could never. 

Sometimes Steve looks at Sam like he’s hung the moon and the stars in the sky and it’s already done, isn’t it, there’s no use worrying about it. Steve jumped and Sam jumped after him and together, they’ll make a safe landing sooner or later.


	11. girls forged from fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kate bishop/natasha romanova | for biggrstaffbunch

Kate likes to tell herself that she and Clint don’t have the same taste in women. 

It’s a huge futzing lie though because the thing is, Clint falls for the most incredible women. Women who are smart, beautiful and unflinchingly brave in the face of blood and horror and war. Women who are kind in ways that people often aren’t. 

She’d called his love life a car crash, once, but it’s probably a little closer to a series of unexpected detours that you didn’t see coming but couldn’t find it in yourself to regret no matter how messy the destination ended up. 

Kate’s pretty sure she could sit and watch Bobbi Morse talk science all day long and Kate pretty much maintained a B- all throughout 10th grade bio. And Jessica Drew — Jessica Drew has this special something about her, a quality that is equal parts fierce and vulnerable and admirable all over. 

As for Natasha Romanova, well. Jeez. Where do you start? 

But there is always a distance, there. She doesn’t know any of them, really. She’s just the partner, the twenty-something with chipped purple nail polish and an even bigger chip on her shoulder trying to figure herself out. Kate’s not one to put herself down — she knows she’s a goddamn catch and anyone’d be lucky to have her but there’s a line between fantasy and reality and she always likes to be honest with herself about just where that line falls. 

Which doesn’t explain how she winds up on the kitchen counter of her father’s Manhattan penthouse, skirt riding up as both legs wrap around Natasha’s waist, as Natasha kisses her with more purpose than Kate’s ever been kissed before in her life, digging her fingers into red hair as if holding on for dear life. 

There was a line, here. A connection from Point A to Point B to explain how she got here. Point A was a rooftop in Bed-Stuy, a bow slung onto her back and the Black Widow at her shoulder and on it went to Point B, to bloody knuckles and bruised flesh, the tracksuit mafia as so many broken limbs at their feet and now there is this, this spark running up and down Kate’s spine, this warmth at every point they’re touching, all somehow a natural continuation, the last step in the night’s dance routine. 

The Black Widow was a ballerina, once, or so the stories say. 

Natasha’s hair is bright like a house on fire is bright, bright like flames licking upwards into the sky and Kate can’t help herself, she gives an experimental tug and smiles, triumphant into the next kiss, when Natasha groans. 

Maybe it’s time Kate rethink those lines a bit. 

Well. 

After, anyways.


End file.
